Sunday, 4 January 2015

If I die and go to heaven...

Last night, my family and I watched the movie Heaven is for Real. It was a 2014 Christmas
gift from a former cell member, a devout and exemplary Christian in my book. To
be honest, it took me one year (so to
speak) to decide to slide that gift into my dvd player. And l was compelled
to do so last night because it was either veggie tales reruns or that. I
avoided that movie for a few weeks (given to me on 6 December) until the new
year 2015 because those days about heaven, hell and St. Peter’s gate toll-check
were, for me, days of future past (…that is, basically muddling confusion if you had watched the X-men movie). You
see, I have heard and read many testimonies about such experiences and I once
believed it hook, line and sinker. I am more sober now and I view such self-confirming
accounts with a pinch of salt and down it with a few cups of communion wine.

That movie revolves around a 4-year-old boy named Colton
who had an emergency surgery due to a burst appendicitis and during the
surgery, he was taken to heaven. Note that it was not a near-death experience because he did not flat-line during the whole
time. Colton was nevertheless hospitalized for 15 days. As expected, the usual
sightings happened. There were a host of angels humming a beautiful hymn (who
according to Colton politely declined to sing Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”) and there were the indispensable peace and joy
with everyone, including Colton’s sister - who had died in a miscarriage - and
his grandpa, looking gorgeous and uncannily young. And for your info, no one
ages in heaven – that’s a bankable
religious truth.

Of course, what spooked me (a little) about the movie was
that Colton saw everything during surgery…he saw his pastor father (Todd Burpo)
praying, crying and nearly losing his faith in God and his mother in the other
room waiting and praying. He also saw things that was at that time never told to
him like his sister and grandpa. Well, the father and mother bit were
explainable because who wouldn’t be praying at such time. But the miscarried
sister caused a slight rising of the eyebrow for me (…erm…I guess I needed a little more communion wine?)

After the movie, my wife turned to me and asked, “Do you believe now?” I hesitated, smiled
and whispered diplomatically, “…it’s
possible.”Then, my son
innocently went for the jugular, “But do
you believe enough?” I guess that’s the bottom-line for me. Do I believe enough. I imagine that the word
“enough” was the evidentially
unbridgeable gap of faith for me.

In Hebrews 11:16, it is written, “But they were looking for a better place, a heavenly homeland. That is
why God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a heavenly
city for them.” I dare wager that all of us, whether religious or
otherwise, either openly or secretly, long for life after death; especially
such a charmed life of eternal bliss after we pass on from this most-time
difficult earthly life. And this longing has been our struggling pious hope that
has kept us on existential tenterhooks for the longest of evolutionary time. Who doesn’t want ultimate justice to be done
where we can finally lead a life without pain, sufferings and tears?

Personally, I am skeptical of all the accounts given so
far. Many people saw hell, animals, mansions, street paved with gold, a mighty
endless river, a musical band of angelic singers, God as bigger-than-life, and
of course, the son of man, Jesus. The latter’s appearance has never changed
throughout the decades. He is amazingly good looking, avuncular and beamingly
wise, with a characteristic overall beard, and a voice that only Sean Connery
could match. These are all standard versions of heaven with some minor
deviations. After all said and done, I guess the bottom-line is this: they could all be true or otherwise, that
is, they are our cultural memes acting out in desperate self-conjured imageries
with compliment of our plastic, hormonal flooding brain.

So, when the eschatological rubber meets the existential
road, do I believe enough? I guess
the movie provokes in me a sentimental longing I can’t deny and it also brought
back a floodgate of poignant memories. Still, I am quite a wishful stick in the empirical
mud.

However, I am still open to all experiences, heavenly or
otherwise. The evidence may fall short but my faith is still stubbornly
adventuresome. I shall therefore keep my views to myself for now and adopt what
T.S. Eliot once said, “I had far rather
walk, as I do, in daily terror of eternity, than feel that this was only a
children’s game in which all the contestants would get equally worthless prizes
in the end.” Never say never, right?

Let me then end with my own version of a heavenly
encounter should I one day die and go to heaven…

…when I arrived, I was greeted at the gates by an angel.
He told me his name, Stephen.
He was quite apologetic when he first saw me. Stephen told me that I had come
at a wrong time. No one was actually prepared for my arrival. In fact, Stephen
told me that God was on a vacation with his entourage and he will be back only
later in the day.

Surprised, I asked Stephen, "Isn't God omnipresent?" Well to be honest, I don't recall his
reply to me on that question. But I think he said something like these are
matters relating to the Host's sovereignty and angels like him don't ask God
about it.

Thereafter, Stephen wanted to show me my abode but I
pleaded with him to show me God's. At first he was hesitant. He told me that
that is against protocol. But after much persuasion - and I trust me, I nearly traded everything in my mansion for it - Stephen
reluctantly agreed (minus the bribe of course).

It took a while, in eternity's window of time, to reach
God's mansion and it was huge. Words cannot describe it adequately. I think it
will take a lifetime to visit every room. I was in awe and clearly speechless.

The journey to the front door required that we walk past
what appeared to me to be a gigantic beach. It was a beautiful sight. Again the
awe I felt preceded and even superseded the words I could muster to express it.
The wind and the waves were beyond the grand and the majestic.

The sea was gentle yet regally aggressive. I marveled at
the sight before asking Stephen about those bottles left by the side of the
beach. The bottles had messages written in it. Stephen smiled at me and picked
up one bottle and told me that each bottle represents a confession of sin on
earth. He said that God hears their confession and they arrive here as symbolic
messages in a bottle.

And what does God do
with them? I asked. Stephen replied that God throws then into the
ocean before him. He said he remembers them no more. So God takes each of the bottles and hurls them far and wide? I
persisted. Stephen nodded. Then, I muttered to myself saying that God must have
left these bottles here - and there were
innumerous of them - because he did not have the time to throw them away. Another day I guess, I mused.

Stephen chimed in and said not quite. These bottles were
left here because they are not done yet. You see, Stephen turned to me and
said, the confession has to be complete before God throws them away. The life
represented in each of these bottles is a life that is still repenting as it
matures along the way. For most of them, the recidivism rate is rather high.

Many suffer from withdrawal symptoms as they cannot let go
of one or two pampered and jealously guarded sins. Only when they have truly
overcome it, and they turn back to it no more, then the confession is complete
and the bottle will be shut for good. There and then, God picks it up and hurls
them beyond the horizon.

I see, I said and requested that we proceed to the enter
God's majestic mansion. I was trembling as I walked into the white sterile hall
of God's heavenly residence. The design was Spartan-like and minimalistic. Nothing fancy. Nothing embellished.
Nothing cluttered. It was indeed a breath of fresh air for me.

Stephen reminded me that my visit here is limited and
unauthorized, so I had to walk in and walk out as fast as possible. I told him
to lead the way and he brought me through a long cavernous corridor leading to
the back of the mansion.

As we walked, I noticed a room, dimly listed, with a huge
box. I asked about it and Stephen told me that that is the prayer-request room. I told him I had to
see it and Stephen relented. We entered the room no bigger than a typical
living room on earth and I saw strewn pieces of paper on the floor just next to
the huge box. I read one of them against Stephen's admonishment and they were
cries for help, desperate petitions for deliverance.

I asked Stephen why they were left on the floor and did
God answer them. Stephen explained that God sometimes answers them and they
are disposed of. But sometimes, God doesn't answer them. He leaves them here,
on the floor.

Stephen told me that this is a very personal and private
room for God. He usually leaves this room with tears in his eyes. So I couldn't
resist the urge to ask my guiding angel why God doesn't answer these prayers. Doesn't he care? What is holding him
back? Is his power constrained because of
our cursed free-will? What about gratuitous sufferings, can't he intervene?
What does he do with these unanswered prayers lying on the floor?

Stephen did not reply to my questions. He just shook his
head. I persisted and he told me that such things are best left for me to ask
God himself.

But Stephen picked up the pieces of paper from the floor
and told me that God hands them over to Jesus. And everyday, without fail,
Jesus would go to the adjoining room to intercede for each of them.

I then asked to see the room and was led to a room that was
even dimmer than the one before. It was warmth and there was an elevated stage
in front. I also saw what appeared to be musical instruments unlike those I had
seen on earth. They were big and grand and I supposed very loud.

Stephen told me that Jesus would hold each prayer request
in his hand and kneel here to intercede for as long as it takes. I supposed the stage and musical instruments
were part of the worship, I asked. Stephen nodded and said that the host of
angels would release a heavenly chorus to comfort and empower the supplicants
on earth. This was how God keeps his line of communication and encouragement
with each of the soul whose name is written on the pieces of paper.

As I couldn't help myself, I repeated the same questions I
asked earlier about how easy it would be for God to intervene - not
indiscriminately but at the very least, most discriminately, starting with
those most deserving, in particular, cases involving gratuitous and inhumane
sufferings.

Stephen again gave me the you-ask-him look, this time even more insistent. Reluctantly I
backed off and we continued down the corridor. My mind was still vexed by
unanswered questions left in the intercession room. I was very unsettled.

As we walked on, I could see the end of the corridor and I
caught what appeared to be beautiful rows of mountains against a glorious
skyline. But before we walked to the end, I saw another door. It was decked
with all kinds of precious metals the kind that I have not seen before. It was
a huge door and I asked Stephen about it. I was very curious to enter into that
room.

This time, Stephen was a little distressed. He told me
that that is the end-time planning
room. That room is where God plans to return to earth as foretold in the
Revelation. I was completely stoked and insisted that we take a peek, just a
harmless gander. Stephen's countenance transformed completely and commanded
that I refrain from doing so.

Again I could not resist myself and begged for just a
peek. Stephen stood firm. Just when I was about to reach for the doorknob, a
booming voice from behind us resonated with an echo that was overwhelming,
"Son, what are you doing?"
We froze. We were stunned, still. Stephen was sweating. That was also when I
woke up and was covered in cold sweat. Cheerz.